


Like moths to a flame

by LostinFic



Series: Any David Tennant character x Any Billie Piper character [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Verse, F/M, Firefly References, Mild Sexual Content, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firefly inspired AU. Belle de Jour is a companion and a passenger on the TARDIS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like moths to a flame

It’s like moths. People think that they are attracted by flames when in fact they are confused by its light. You see, to find their way, they have a sophisticated system of celestial navigation called transverse orientation. It uses the light from the moon as a landmark to guide their paths in the night. But sometimes they find themselves close to a flame and they mistake it for the moon. It disorients them and they lose their way, spiraling out of control until they get burned.

He was looking for the moon and he found a flame.

The TARDIS landed on Sihnon in 2517 just when she was in dire need of transportation. In 0.34 seconds he had figured out she wasn’t Rose but 0.34 seconds was all it took to kindle hope. She wore crimson lipstick and swayed her hips outrageously. She smelled like orchids and trouble: a bouquet he couldn’t resist.

She introduced herself as Belle de Jour. She said she was a companion, a high-society courtesan licensed by the Union of Allied Planets, part of the social elite in this corner of the universe. She needed to reach clients in the outer rim, and he needed a mate.

After what had happened on Mars, he knows more than ever that Donna was right, he shouldn’t be alone, not then, not now. So he pretends the TARDIS is nothing but a means of transport. He starts taking in passengers, carrying them from one side of the universe to the other for a small fee and company. They come and go, renting rooms on the TARDIS and helping out when he’s in trouble. Most of them, he never sees again but Belle becomes a regular passenger. He soon learns that her presence confers a certain degree of legitimacy to his new business, therefore avoiding any problems with the Alliance authorities.

 

The Doctor suspects she’s running away from something but so is he. His time is coming. Although, what good is a timeship if you can’t use it to delay your own death? And so they have an unspoken agreement in which they never ask personal questions thus maintaining the precarious balance of their own fantasy.

Still, he shouldn’t have taken her onboard. Sometimes he hears her laugh in another room and his hearts get overexcited. Sometimes she sits on the jump seat in casual clothing and when he looks up from under the console, for a split second, he thinks it’s Rose. Because every time she leaves his ship it’s to sleep with another man.

But on his most optimistic days, he decides that at least that way he’s never going to forget how Rose smiled with her tongue poking out. Or the way her eyes sparkled when they landed on a new planet. Or how cute she was with messy hair in the morning.

And sometimes he thinks that if Rose got to have a replica of him, why shouldn’t he get a replica of her? Except she’s not, a fact he’s reminded of when Belle talks about her dad or when she asks where are the other Time Lords.

Nevertheless, she’s brilliant company. She has tons of funny stories about her clients and she’s completely unapologetic about her enjoyment of sex.

“I left Companion House Madrassa because they thought I was too… oh, how did she put it? Spirited. They try to make the companion this whole philosophical and mystical experience but, let’s be honest, I'm a whore.”

When she’s not with a client or off shopping, she hangs out with him, preparing meals for the passengers, playing chess in the library while drinking Irish coffees and swimming in the pool. His days seem to revolve around her, and it becomes increasingly hard to keep his distance both physically and psychologically.

 

“You’re looking at me that way again,” she points out one evening they happen to be alone on board.

The Doctor doesn’t ask what she means, instead developing a sudden interest in the transducer cells. She leans on the console right next to him. The piece of silk draped around her body and over one shoulder is set alight by the blue glow of the time rotor. So much of her skin is on display, so close to his fingers. He catches a glimpse of pity in her eyes and he has to look away.

“One day I’ll find out what that look means. That’s my job, that’s what I’m good at, finding out my clients’ most secret fantasies and making them come true.”

Her voice is low, intimate, her scarlet lips inches away from his ear.

“Ah, but I am not one of your clients, Belle de Jour,” the Doctor says, index finger in the air.

“Aren’t you? You know that a companion gets to choose her own clients and I chose you.”

“You didn’t choose me, you needed me.”

“How is that different?”

“Well, for one thing we’re not… you know…” He pulls on his ear and steps aside to look at the monitor.

She’s on his heels, her luxurious perfume permeating his personal space. Her shoulder bumps his, an apparently playful gesture but her eyes are intent on him, glowing like embers.

“Sexual intercourse is not the only service I provide, hence the name: companion.”

“Ah, but well, you see, I am not paying you.”

“Considering how little you charge for a room on the TARDIS you might as well be. You and I both know you’re not doing this for the money. So, tell me, Doctor, what itch do you need me to scratch?”

Her hands slip under the lapels of his jacket, leaving a trail of warmth over his hearts, as she eases the brown garment off his shoulders. Then, she takes a step back and removes a pin from her dress, releasing the fabric, it unravels around her body, leaving her completely bare in the dark console room. The Doctor gasps and stares, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Belle…” he whispers.

“That’s not my name.”

“What?”

“Belle de Jour, that’s not my real name.”

“What’s your real one?”

“What is yours?” she asks with a cheeky grin, “I know you won’t tell me. I understand that."

For the first time since she's stepped into the console room, he smiles at her.

"I’ll be the beauty you need and you’ll be the healer I need and maybe together we can escape our fates for a little while.”

She stays in place, waiting for her words to sink in and for him to do the next move. Finally, he takes a few steps forward and hesitantly raises his hand to touch her. His eyes are wide and dark as he brushes the back of his fingers, featherlight, across her stomach. He looks at her to make sure it’s alright and she encourages him with a nod. He takes a deep, shaky breath and his hands encircle her ribs, thumbs stroking the underside of her breasts, then moving up until he can feel her hard nipples in the center of his palms. Unconsciously, he licks his lips, his hunger growing. His hands move up again, thumbs running over the angles of her jaw and strands of light licking between his fingers. He tastes her breath on the tip of his tongue and seeks the source of such sweet warmth. When his hungry mouth meets hers, it’s not a kiss, it’s instantaneous combustion.

A primal groan escapes his throat and he lifts her up on the seat. She opens her legs to accommodate his narrow hips, his groin pressing against the inside of her thigh. Her agile hands make short work of his fly and wrap around his hardening member. His forehead falls to her shoulder and Gallifreyan curses, he thought he had forgotten, echo in the crook of her neck. He recovers quickly, easily remembering his part of the job. She gasps in surprise as his fingers pinch and grasp and caress just the way she likes. His exploration continues downward, slender fingers meeting wetness and delving into her. She eagerly unbuttons his shirt, abandoning the tie around his neck, to press her breasts to his chest, reveling in the intimate contact. But it’s not enough. She guides him into her and he spirals out of control. His world narrows down to the feel of her, he’s high on her wanton moans and intoxicated by the taste of her skin. From then on, it’s all thrusting and rutting, groping and biting. The closer he gets, the closer he holds her, desperate to never let her go even though she’s already gone.

“Doctor, please,” Belle whimpers as her nails dig in his back.

And the sound of her voice brings him over the edge.


End file.
